Eat you inside out like stress...You hear my voice, you see my face, you know my name / I take it out your ass and charge it to the game

I've evolved enough that I've learned to not subject others to the fallout of my own unhappiness. I think that's a significant, hard-won behavioral leap that, sadly, a staggering percent of the population of folks I know haven't quite mastered.

Sometimes playing TV can be really nerve-wracking, and I think I tend to handle that by trying to look at my band-mates as frequently as possible and ignore everything else.

I think that my parents' only regret is that they wasted so much money on my stupid prestigious university degree.

My hair is my everything: my best friend, my mentor, my moral compass.

It also makes me worry about photos of me that exist that I might not even know about. How do I appear in these unwitting photographs? Who is taking them, without my knowledge or consent, and from where?

If you hand an adult a lump of clay, they're likely to respond by fashioning something representative out of the raw material. For the most part, they'll simply forge an object that signifies something "real" in the world, even if that something is as abstract as an emotion or an energy. A child, on the other hand, will just as often produce something totally without semiotic meaning, a shape or a mass that represents nothing that exists outside of their imagination. Or else, they'll eat it or throw it or ignore it, wholesale.